


I Don't Want You To Go Yet

by folie_aplusieurs



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fights, Friends With Benefits, I might be missing things but oh well, Kinda, M/M, Patrick Stump is sad, Pete Wentz Is Sad, Side Relationships - Freeform, Summer Cliches, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Swimming, Underwater kisses, Well - Freeform, a hopeful ending, they're all very unhappy with how things are going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folie_aplusieurs/pseuds/folie_aplusieurs
Summary: Five summers where Pete and Patrick ignored their feelings + 1 where they didn't~ ~ ~“God, if you’re breaking up with me, just say it!” Patrick’s cheeks are fully flamed now, his voice a squeak as his eyes fall from Pete’s face to the floor— a crash Pete had wanted to avoid.He winces, hands twitching at his side as if he has any right to reach out to Patrick now.“It’s not breaking up.” Even to his own ears, the words sound forced. “It’s more of a—”“A relationship with time constraints?” Patrick asks, looking back up at Pete with fire in his eyes. “A fucking annual summer fling?”





	I Don't Want You To Go Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I've been gone-- recovering from a car wreck (don't worry, nothing terrible). This was supposed to be part of a fantastic collection that I'm sure you've all seen and properly appreciated, but life does not always work out that way.
> 
> I did finish this a few days ago, though, and it'd be a shame to let it waste, I think, so here it is. A very belated summer fic.

**First Summer — 2005**

Pete does not love being in love. He does not love the jealousy that comes with the desire. He does not love the broken hearts that trail at the end of every fight. He does not love the mornings that crawl in after the restless evenings, the fear of each day being their last together. 

He does not love the fact that, as relationships grow, they become stale. He does not love knowing that honeymoon stages come first, their blinding brightness dimming all the rest.

And, more than all this, he does not love knowing that a relationship will, inevitably, end.

And it’s this paradox— this certainty that the more he loves, the less he loves it— that has him pacing the hallways outside Patrick’s apartment. He doesn’t need to check the time to know how late he is but he does so anyway, the wince feeling more scripted than anything else when he sees Patrick’s worried texts. As always, the sight of Patrick’s name brushes against Pete’s heart and veins but, today, it’s coupled with frayed nerves and a dry mouth.

He hasn’t felt this nervous about seeing Patrick since his own graduation day, a day that promised to break them states apart as Pete left to pursue a career and Patrick stayed to finish university. Two years below him, Patrick and Pete had met while in line for popcorn at a local movie, brushing elbows and teasing each other about whatever film the other was seeing. Patrick laughed at Pete’s cheesy rom-com choice while Pete poked fun at Patrick’s pretentious musician biopic; none of it mattered, though, as they both snuck out to get ice cream together halfway through the movies, anyway.

It didn’t count as a first date but they kissed, sweet vanilla and sprinkles on their lips, before the night was through. Even now, Pete can’t get the taste of sugar out of his mouth whenever he looks at Patrick’s smile.

It’s a smile he only sees rarely now, however. With states between them and spotty internet connections, staying in proper contact has been tough. They’ve made do with summer visits— something Patrick calls romantic and Pete calls not enough time— but two months out of the year is barely a relationship. And nothing proves that more than the way Patrick’s friend, Joe, was looking at him last year.

Last year, last summer, as Pete dropped his bags on Patrick’s bed, some blue-eyed boy came over. Patrick’s age with the worst sense of humor, he’d been asking for advice about applying to a local record store. And, as Pete unpacked, those two spoke for hours. 

To be fair, Patrick didn’t seem to be playing at anything other than a good friend, despite Joe’s puppy dog eyes and lack of personal space. But that didn’t change the fact that over half the conversation meant nothing to Pete. Discussions about classes Pete couldn’t relate to, people he’s never met, situations Patrick never shared. It was more than an eye-opening glimpse into everything he’s missed since leaving— it was a sign. It was an equation telling him that his fractionally small role in Patrick’s life is just that— a fraction.

He can’t always be here for Patrick and that, perhaps, is what Pete loves to hate the most. And it’s not what Patrick deserves.

It’s not what either of them deserves.

Pete’s phone burns in his hand with another incoming text, the vibrations shaking his bones as he forces himself to face Patrick’s door. 

When it comes to love, Pete is not in love with this part of it.

“Pete!” Patrick exclaims as he swings the door open, mere seconds after Pete had knocked. He has that smile he always saves for Pete, the one that shines no matter how dark the circles beneath his eyes become. His hair’s gotten longer since Pete last saw him and the sideburns are bigger than before, clutching his cheeks as if they have no other choice. “You’re a bit late, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Pete says, taking his gaze away from Patrick’s hair and back to his eyes. God, they glimmer in a way Pete can drown in, happily suffocating on blues and golds as Patrick rolls them at the half-assed apology. They’re tired eyes, though, circled by rings of sleepless nights that Pete understands all too well. “Congratulations on graduating, by the way. I wanted to fly out but—”

“But the kids,” Patrick says, nodding. “It’s okay, I get it. You do have to help me get through, like, all the cookies my mom made while she was here, though. It’s ridiculous, I swear.”

True to his word, Patrick leads Pete into the kitchen and gestures at the plates of cookies left lying out, a different type for each dish. A few have clearly been favored more than others, two or three of the chocolate chip left as opposed to the full plate of multi-colored sugar cookies near the edge. The crumbs on the corner of Patrick’s lips now, at least, make sense.

“Out of the pie phase, then?” Pete jokes, snagging a snickerdoodle. 

Patrick laughs. “Mom got out of the pie phase a bit ago. It was banana bread for a while before this but I think she got bored with that one. There are only so many ways to experiment with goddamn banana bread. Oh, try the raisin ones. I need to know if I’m losing my mind or if she actually managed to make raisin cookies taste good.”

Pete smiles but it’s not as warm as it could be, not as hot as the air still streaming from the oven Patrick’s left open. The scent of chocolate is thick and Pete pokes a speck of flour near Patrick’s wrist.

“You sure you didn’t do some experimenting of your own?” He asks. “Did you make any cookies?”

“Check the trash and see for yourself.” Patrick turns to stick a kiss to Pete’s cheek, lips pressing near the corner of Pete’s mouth as Patrick grins. The grin, however, doesn’t last as he pulls away. He frowns though there’s still a spark in his eyes. “You’re not running to the trash to see my cookies. What’s wrong? Why don’t you want my trash cookies?”

“I always want your trash cookies,” Pete says, blinking to readjust his gaze back on Patrick’s face. He feels like a computer rebooting, smiling in a way that’s more code than sincerity. 

Patrick doesn’t return it. “Seriously. What’s wrong?”

It feels cruel to shrug Patrick’s touch away but Pete does so with little concern, his smile slipping as he glances around the apartment he knows as well as his own.

“Tired, I guess,” he says, finally reaching Patrick’s eyes. “How’ve you been?”

“The same,” Patrick answers cautiously, his own shrug feeling like a shield as he folds his arms across his chest. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah.” It’s a bullet lodged in Pete’s gut, shrapnel he needs to dig out. “I know.”

Pete knows by the messages sent to his phone each night, the giggles he hears when he calls Patrick each morning, him getting ready for work as Patrick prepares for class. He knows by how sad Patrick sounds when they say goodbye, how insistent his kisses are whenever they’re together.

And Pete misses Patrick, too— of course, he does. He just misses him in a way that will tear him apart if he gives it the chance.

“And, you?” Patrick asks, just as wary as before, his head tipped to the side in that overly adorable lost puppy way. “It’s been a while and—”

“I got promoted,” Pete says, not meaning to cut Patrick off but not regretting it either. “Full-time school librarian. The kids seem excited and I already have plans for weekly storytime sessions for some of the more advanced readers. It’s… It’s a good job, Patrick.”

“I know.” Patrick speaks slowly, refusing to step out of the strike zone Pete’s brought into his home. “You’ve always loved kids and I’ve always loved that about you. Congratulations, I guess, but I don’t get—”

“I’ll be busy,” Pete says with all the finality of closing the covers of a book. “I’ll only really have time over summer to see you.”

“Well, how’s that any different than how things are now?” Patrick asks, rolling his eyes though Pete can see how his fingers are pressing into his skin, his grip on his own arms tight. “You already only ever come out for June and July and it sucks but we make it work.”

“Do we?” Pete asks. “Come on, be honest.”

“I am being honest,” Patrick snaps, so desperate and full of fire in the face of Pete’s cool facade. Pete always forgets how young Patrick is until they hit moments like these, moments where Patrick colors the air with emotion he hardly shows otherwise. Usually so controlled, he’s spitting his words now. “Look, I don’t get what you’re trying to say. Yeah, it’ll suck balls when you’re gone but it’s never been an issue before. What, do you think I cheat on you when you leave? Do you think I just forget about us until you conveniently show up for a few summertime fucks?”

“No, I know you don’t. And I hate to say it but that’s kind of the problem. You’re wasting your time on something that just doesn’t matter the way it used to,” Pete says in a rush. “I’m not part of your life when I’m not here. I don’t know your friends and I don’t know what you get up to. And it’s the same from my side. Do you even know what school I work at? Do you know where I live?”

“No, but I know you,” Patrick says, cheeks steadily growing red. “And knowing that I, like, _ care _about you is more important than any of that shit, don’t you think?”

“Maybe when you’re in school, yeah.” Pete doesn’t mean to snap, doesn’t mean to stoke the pained fire in Patrick’s eyes, but the words fit too well in his mouth. “Listen, I’m not saying this to be a dick. You’re starting your radio internship here in a bit, right? So you won’t be able to come see me, either. We’re going to be living two different lives in two different places and it’s not fair for either of us to have to miss the other.”

“We still have summer,” Patrick presses despite the murderous frown he keeps giving Pete. “When you left, you said we would always have the summers.”

“And we do.” Pete’s voice grows weak as sunset, a fleeting image of something that should mean so much more. “We can still meet up in June and July but, I mean, I think—”

“God, if you’re breaking up with me, just say it!” Patrick’s cheeks are fully flamed now, his voice a squeak as his eyes fall from Pete’s face to the floor— a crash Pete had wanted to avoid.

He winces, hands twitching at his side as if he has any right to reach out to Patrick now.

“It’s not breaking up.” Even to his own ears, the words sound forced. “It’s more of a—”

“A relationship with time constraints?” Patrick asks, looking back up at Pete with fire in his eyes. “A fucking annual summer fling?”

There’s no witty response on Pete’s tongue, no reassurance climbing its way out of his throat. Because Patrick’s right and it’d be too rough to say so— just like it’d be cruel to pretend otherwise.

“It’s for the best,” he says softly, testing the waters with a small step Patrick’s way. Patrick flinches but, ultimately, he doesn’t move as Pete takes his hand. “I know it sounds selfish now but it’d be so much worse if we didn’t do this. I’ll still be here for the summers, okay?”

“But only for the summers.” Patrick’s voice, too, has gone soft. Still, he lets Pete hold his hand, lets his own fingers wrap back around Pete’s. “You really think it’s for the best?”

Pete’s uncertain but his voice, at least, sounds sure. “Yes.”

“Fine,” Patrick whispers, squeezing Pete’s hand as he says it. He won’t meet his gaze, staring at their interlocked fingers like it’s a lock he’s lost the key to. “I’ll go along with it— if you promise not to bring it up for the rest of the summer.”

The rest of the summer— right. With an internal flinch, Pete thinks of the bags still waiting in the rental car outside, of the excited messages Patrick had sent saying that Pete could— obviously— spend the summer with him. With the academic year through, Pete’s summer is free and he’d planned on spending it with Patrick.

Perhaps he should have saved this speech for the end— but, then, what difference would that make? This, at least, didn’t feel cowardly. 

“Yeah, alright,” Pete says, nodding perhaps a bit too eagerly. “It’s better if we just leave it unsaid.”

“And I do have one question about your plan.” Is he projecting or is there bitterness in Patrick’s voice when he speaks? Is there resentment in his eyes when he looks at Pete? “If we’re not, you know, official anymore, can I still kiss you? Is it taking it too far if I act like nothing’s changed?”

At this, Pete hesitates. He hadn’t considered all the ways things might shift if they go through with this— the now awkward space between them, no matter how close they stand. He’s Patrick’s, but only for the summer.

And if he’s only Patrick’s over summer, is he really Patrick’s, at all?

“You- I mean-” Pete stammers, eyes caught on the hook that is Patrick’s sharp-edged frown.

“I’m not stupid, okay. It doesn’t have to mean anything anymore.” There’s definitely a blade in Patrick’s voice, cutting down Pete’s soul with every word he lets loose. “Friends with summer benefits, right? Is that what you have in mind?”

It’s barely been a minute but Pete’s regret is too big for this room. And Patrick’s test is a fuse Pete’s too stubborn to leave unlit. Patrick watches Pete with the sun in his eyes, brilliant enough to tie Pete’s words into knots.

“Exactly,” Pete says, sweating under Patrick’s raised eyebrow and glare. “That’s exactly what I want.”

~ ~ ~

**Second Summer — 2006**

Pete’s not proud of how much he misses Patrick even as he’s standing right next to him. He’s not proud of how quickly his plan seems to be failing. As summer races itself to the end, Pete is a monster of his own making— a monster with every human emotion.

But they still have a month left and Pete smiles with the hope that the first month was just a fluke— a time filled with tight smiles and awkward hugs, no one knowing the right way to turn their head when they kissed for the first time.

But, still. Patrick’s wearing Pete’s hoodie— the big one with the bats and hearts— and he’s holding Pete’s hand as they’re walking to the swimming pool. They’re laughing and they’re joking and, certainly, that means they’re fine.

“No, no, but, okay, listen.” Patrick’s gesturing with his free hand as he tells Pete all about the new segment they want him to take on at the radio. “It’s a sucky night shift but it’s a great step in, I think. They want me to talk about music and that’s all I do anyway, right? But now I can actually get paid for it.”

Patrick’s practically glowing as he speaks, the sun reflecting off his glasses and blinding Pete each time Patrick takes the time to push them back up his nose. It’s a quick burst of light, a sudden flash of something more than sun.

It’s like it used to be and it warms Pete’s being entirely.

“That’s so cool,” he says, beaming when Patrick smiles proudly at him. Like there’s nothing wrong with the way Pete pulls him closer, with the way Pete aches to press a kiss to his cheek right here and now. “You’ll need to tell me what station and time because—”

“Oh, hey, Trick! I thought that was you!”

Pete has no reason to freeze at the intruding voice and, yet, he does.

“Joe!” Patrick’s growing grin is a betrayal, a scalding burn across Pete’s skin as he pulls away to greet the approaching boy. “Hey, what’s up? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has.” Joe looks at Patrick like Pete’s not there, his eyes big and his cheeks vaguely pink. “I tried calling after, you know, that night but—”

“Oh, shit, right,” Patrick says. “God, man, I’m so sorry. Things just came up and- Well, I did have a really nice time. I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Joe says, his gaze burning brighter— you can strike a match on those eyes. “I was worried but, yeah. It was a great time. I’m glad you gave it a chance.”

Patrick laughs. Once, he would have fallen in towards Pete as he giggled and did his ‘aw, shucks’ routine; now, however, he steps to the side.

Pete’s mind is the second before a firework explodes. Tension wraps like a band around his head and all he sees is the dark.

He knows better than to hope for a misunderstanding. Patrick’s cheeks are too red for that.

So when did this happen? This night that Patrick enjoyed, that he took a chance on? Was it while Pete was here? During their summer— their time? Was it the night before he arrived or the morning after, Patrick sneaking out because it doesn’t mean anything? Was it a better time than Patrick’s having right now? Was it worth it?

Joe and Patrick continue to talk, to laugh.

Whatever it was, it isn’t Pete’s to know.

“Come on.” Patrick tugging his hand, tugging him back to earth. Pete blinks and catches Joe’s brown curls fading down the sidewalk. “I want to get to the pool before it’s busy.”

The grin Pete pins on feels right but, if it isn’t, Patrick doesn’t say anything about it.

Despite their rushing and Patrick’s hopes, the pool is still rather crowded when they arrive. Floating animals and sinking toys scatter like raindrops as kids jump in and climb out of the shallow end, parents calling out names Pete’s too tired to take note of. Patrick drags him to a chair left in the shade, discarding the hoodie and his t-shirt. In his swim trunks and glasses, Pete can nearly forget about everything that happened on the way here.

“Since when do you just wear shorts?” Pete asks with a teasing grin. Patrick grows pink but he smiles all the same.

“Since it’s been this hot,” he says. “Besides, it’s all moms and high schoolers here. I doubt I need to impress them.” He pauses, rubbing his arm as if preparing for the inevitable sunburn that will appear later. “Hey, the deeper end is pretty empty. Let’s go there.”

Patrick tosses his glasses to the chair and hurries into the water before Pete can fully chuck off his shoes and shirt. 

“Really? Trick, wait,” he says, stumbling over his feet in a way that has the lifeguard pulling the whistle up to his lips. 

Pete can’t tell whether or not he’s reprimanded. He’s too busy staring at Patrick.

It’s stupid to compare him to a mermaid or anything like that but, as Patrick emerges from the pool, it’s all Pete can think of. His hair’s darker with the water weighing it down, his eyes shut as he purses his lips and brushes his hands across his face. There’s a small smile on his mouth and— though Pete’s sitting on the edge, his legs tossed over the side— he can hear the gasps escaping Patrick’s throat.

“Fu-Fudge, that’s cold,” Patrick says, censoring himself with a laugh. “God, I haven’t been in a pool in a while. I forgot how bad they are.”

Pete grins, kicking water Patrick’s direction. “You wanna go?”

“No,” Patrick says. His legs work tirelessly, keeping him afloat as he grins up at Pete. He’s a mix of cool and hot, the sun decorating his skin as water drips down his face like paint from a canvas. He’s something to be marveled at, something to be discovered, and Pete barely dares to blink. “Leaving is giving up and I’m determined to enjoy my time here. Wait, aren’t you getting in?”

“I will,” Pete assures him. “Just… Let me watch you for a bit.”

It’s nothing Pete hasn’t already said before— but that was _before_. Before the new rules and the borders. Before Patrick stopped being fully his.

Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, smiling in a way that bunches up his cheeks before diving beneath the water again. 

He’s so perfect, it burns.

What would this moment be if Pete never said those words? If he never told Patrick this was better? If Patrick never agreed?

It’s no use wondering but, with Patrick touching the bottom of the pool like he hopes to collect the pennies from a wishing well, Pete finds himself wondering all the same.

Patrick’s a star, a fleeting summer moment. He’s not meant to be held by one person but, instead of letting go, perhaps Pete should have simply tried to hold on tighter.

A hand suddenly around Pete’s wrist brings him back from these thoughts. A flash of a shining grin, the sound of someone calling his name.

Patrick tugs him into the water and all of Pete’s heated thoughts are cooled.

Pete’s eyes shut as he hits the surface, Patrick’s hand moving to touch down his neck and across his collarbones. Pete’s own hands grip Patrick’s wrists, holding onto them softly as they shake their heads to keep the water from their eyes. 

He wants to see Patrick. He wants to touch him.

Patrick mutters something that sounds like Pete’s name and Pete nearly sinks beneath the surface as it hits him. Patrick swims closer and the pool shifts, Pete going down. Down, below the water and below every thought he’s pushed away. 

The water’s still cold as he sinks to the bottom but his eyes are open and everything is a haze as Patrick sinks down with him, moving in slow motion like a man sent out to space. 

When Patrick is finally before Pete, he comes forward and gently kisses him. 

Sugar. Sweet. Summer.

Pete lets go of all air he’d been keeping in his lungs, placing his hands on Patrick’s cheeks and feeling the smile on his face. Chlorine soaks onto his lips and tongue but he doesn’t care, can’t care. This is the moment that defines their summers. This is the moment Pete can call theirs. Hidden in a world beneath a mirrorlike surface, kept safe in a place with no words. This kiss is like drowning.

And, slowly, they part. Slowly, they reach the surface again, Pete’s hands still caught by Patrick’s hair. 

Patrick takes his wrist this time and moves him away, kicking until there’s nothing but distance and tension between them. Pete swims forward, hands outstretched as Patrick keeps just out of reach.

Pete’s on fire, every place that Patrick touched screaming for attention as every place left abandoned scorches with hurt.

His mind is still swirling and searching for understanding as Patrick climbs out of the pool and towards their towels and clothes. By the time Pete’s caught up with him, standing on the edge with goosebumps across his arms, Patrick has a towel pulled tight around his shoulders, his back to Pete.

It’s nothing more than mere instinct to go to Patrick, to wrap his arms around him like they’re meant to fit together. Bodies of water merging easily into each other, a river feeding into an ocean. Patrick matches and sinks into him— the way he always does.

“Seriously?” Patrick asks, though he doesn’t move away. “Come on, let go, it’s hot.”

“Wait.” Pete’s arms tighten— fear, perhaps, or a gentle search for comfort. “Just… Just a second.”

Patrick waits, still in Pete’s arms with one hand lifted to touch fingertips to Pete’s wrist. “What are you thinking?”

It’s the cautious voice, the familiar whisper, that has Pete pulling Patrick closer, holding onto him as if it can make the rest of the world pause for just this moment. It’s the careful tone that has Pete admitting things he shouldn’t.

“I’m thinking that I was wrong,” he says, with a practiced whisper of his own. “I’m thinking that I shouldn’t have given you up.”

Pete can feel the moment the mood shifts. 

Patrick stiffens and even the air seems to go cold. His fingers— gently stroking the inside of Pete’s wrist— switch to grab his arm and pull him away, twisting out of Pete’s grip before Pete has the chance to fight back.

“It was your choice,” Patrick says. His voice hasn’t risen or changed but there’s something in the way he looks at Pete now that has the words sounding harsh. “Don’t forget that it was your choice.”

Don’t forget? Pete doesn’t think he ever can.

Protests hang on the tip of his tongue, though. Statements about how Patrick agreed or how they can change it all with a different promise press against his lips.

But Patrick turns away, his cheeks redder than before, and Pete keeps his mouth shut. 

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step away. His head hangs enough for him to feel like a scolded child, his own face warm for a reason other than the sun.

There’s a moment of disturbing silence, of Patrick standing away from him and muttering softly to himself as he tosses the towel back to the side. Pete doesn’t shut his eyes for fear of Patrick disappearing when he opens them again and, yet, he aches to look away. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Patrick says at last. He’s wearing an exasperated smile when Pete looks up, something tired yet still fond. “It’s fine.”

It isn’t, Pete knows, but he’s willing to believe so as long as Patrick’s willing to say it.

“But I’m always worrying.” He tries to say it with a teasing smile but the words sound too haunted, too fallen. He tries to follow it up with a comfortable laugh but that, too, simply feels broken.

Patrick’s eyes go soft.

“I promise,” he says, holding out his pinkie in some echo of a childish swear, “that there won’t be anything to worry about. As long as you keep showing up, I promise the summers will always be ours.”

It’s something Pete should have said when he introduced the idea— something smart and gentle all at once. But, instead, it’s Patrick holding out the olive branch. Instead, it’s Patrick trying to comfort him.

Pete places his pinkie beside Patrick’s and pretends it doesn’t strike into his chest when they fold together.

“Promise,” he repeats, somehow saying the word without choking. “I promise, too.”

Patrick’s smile is a streak of sun, a heat that Pete didn’t know he missed. “Good.” 

He steps towards Pete, that smile still on his face, and he’s suddenly close enough to kiss again— close enough to be hurt, close enough to hurt Pete.

Against all of his desires, Pete steps away.

“Come on, we didn’t come here for nothing,” he says as the confused damage is still fading from Patrick’s eyes. “Race you to the pool!”

He could grab Patrick’s hand and pull him along with him. He could press a sloppy kiss to his cheek, could ruffle his hair and call him one of those dumb nicknames he came up with years ago.

Instead, hot concrete presses into his feet as he runs towards the edge. 

He jumps and lets water catch him, his breath always caught in his chest.

~ ~ ~

That summer, Pete lives like he’s supposed to fly, feet never touching the ground as they run from cliche to cliche. They kiss like there’s no need to breathe; Pete’s heart beats like it can’t feel gravity beginning to crush down upon it. 

When Patrick smiles back against his lips, a hand pressed to Pete’s chest, Pete shuts his eyes and pretends he’s somewhere he’s allowed to call home.

But Patrick’s world is not his; it’s a place that means only summer and pinkie promises. It’s the cool sting of water exploding against his skin when Patrick throws a balloon at him from the street, laughing at the wet dog look on Pete’s face. It’s the rush of wind against his cheeks as they chase down ice cream trucks on rental bikes, Patrick huffing behind him as Pete calls out that he wants to buy all the flavors. It’s hopscotch and lemonade and staring up at cerulean skies. It’s feeling like a little kid when Patrick looks at him, knowing full well that they’ll never feel this way again. 

Because Patrick’s world is not Pete’s. Patrick’s world doesn’t exist— not in the way these two months make it seem.

“Forget that it’s summer,” Pete says between kisses, pressing Patrick back against the walls of an art exhibit, hiding them in the dark as he breathes against his lips, as he begs for something too awful to name. “Forget that this is fake.”

It’s cruel and Patrick bites Pete’s lip for it but he kisses back all the same; perhaps he, too, needs to pretend this world was made for them.

In that summer, Pete learns to fit a thousand sunny days into one. He learns how to make summer more than just a season; it’s a challenge and, even as they near the end, he holds on with no intention of letting go.

Of course, he can’t hold on forever and all that’s left in his hands is the plane ticket back home.

The paper reaches out to choke him. He can’t breathe.

Looking at Patrick from across the apartment, he wonders if Patrick feels the same way. 

He wonders if Patrick has plans for after Pete’s gone.

He wonders if this will hurt so much every time.

~ ~ ~

**Third Summer — 2007**

It’s not so much a dance anymore. There’s no sweet exchange of knowing smiles nor is there the careful complication of conversation behind their eyes. This has all been traded for gazes glancing off each other shamefully, and frowns that taste like salt when pressed together hopelessly.

Sitting across from Patrick at dinner, Pete’s favorite dance has been replaced with the threatening steps of a duel.

Patrick seems just as aware, arms crossing and uncrossing over his chest as they wait for dessert. Pete could break the silence by pointing out that Patrick’s wearing a new shirt but, then, he’s wearing new everything, isn’t he? He’s gotten new glasses and though they don’t change the color of his eyes the thicker lenses take Pete back into wondering if the blue he sees matches the shade the rest of the world sees. His hair’s grown out, framing his face, and there’s something new in the way he twists his lips in Pete’s direction. He looks good in a new way, his blazer and dark black jeans emphasizing pale skin, his hat hiding brighter shades.

Pete wonders if Patrick dressed up for him or if this is simply who he is now. The question sits in the back of his throat, gagging and tempting him, but there’s a knife in Patrick’s eyes that tells Pete not to cross any lines tonight.

“You have something to say,” Pete points out, twisting the blade back towards Patrick’s throat. “You’re doing that thing with your tongue.”

That thing where he chews on it as if distracting his mouth from the taste of whatever unsavory thing it is he needs to say. The first time Pete pointed it out, Patrick had bitten down too hard and drawn blood; Pete still remembers how it felt to kiss his reddened lips, distracting Patrick in a different way.

Tonight, though, Patrick releases his tongue from between his teeth, and sighs. 

“You keep sending letters,” Patrick says and then stops.

Pete blinks. “Well, yeah. Of course.”

Of course— why wouldn’t he? They’re stupid things— small things he writes when it’s late and he forgets how Patrick looks, his body outlined by words that need to be let out. They’re not love letters; Pete’s been careful not to use that word. They’re simply nice, Pete thought. He wrote them to let Patrick know that he’s always in Pete’s head. Patrick used to love Pete’s words; Pete’s doing this for him.

And, maybe, if he forces himself to admit it, he’s doing it for himself, too. Pete is all words and, if he’s always sending those to Patrick, then it’s like he’s here, in Patrick’s world. It’s like he’s carving away a permanent space.

It’s like he never left.

“Right, well,” Patrick says, leaning forward against the table, “you need to stop.”

It’s not that Pete feels the blade taken from him again; it’s that the dagger was never his to hold.

“What?” He sounds like a deflated balloon falling to the ground with faded colors and no string save his dignity. When he takes a breath and tries again, he sounds like Patrick had when this damn idea was first presented. “Why?”

Though he shrugs and looks away, uncaring, there’s some grim weight in Patrick’s words. 

“They make me think of you and I don’t like thinking of you in other seasons.” Patrick takes a drink of his water— Pete thinks they should have ordered something stronger. “It makes it hard to forget.”

_ That’s the point _sits primly on Pete’s tongue, tasting of gunpowder and sun. Forget the swords and knives; Pete can win this fight if he forgets how to play fair.

Patrick’s eyes flicker. Pete doesn’t doubt he has an explosion behind his teeth, too.

“Okay,” Pete says, shrinking back. “I’ll stop.”

Patrick’s lips part and Pete’s heart does one curious thud, pushing against his ribs to hear what might be said.

“Ice cream?” The waiter asks, appearing with their desserts. 

Patrick draws back, mouth forming a polite smile as he nods for the dishes to be set down.

The sugar is ash on Pete’s tongue.

~ ~ ~ 

When a cancelled flight sends Pete back to Patrick’s apartment on what should have been the last day of this summer, Patrick is on the phone.

Patrick is allowed to have friends. Patrick is allowed to do this.

But—

“No, yeah, I’ll be moving into a better position later this month,” Patrick says, back turned to the door as Pete quietly lets himself in. “So affording rent won’t be too much of a problem if you wanted to stick with that place. It’s a nice apartment and we both like it. Besides, moving in together was your idea.”

All it takes is one second for Pete to see red.

He lets the door slam shut behind him, watching the way Patrick jumps. There’s fear in Patrick’s eyes when he turns— panicking like a rabbit in the road— and Pete’s first thought is that he’s never wanted to see that emotion on Patrick before.

His next thought is that there’s something so awfully wrong about all of this.

“Just a sec, I’ll call you back later.” Patrick hangs up, eyes on Pete as Pete’s lip twist into the painful version of a grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Flight was canceled,” Pete says with a shrug, bags still held in shaking hands. All he hears is Patrick’s voice in his head, his words, his call. “Who were you talking to?”

“A friend.” Patrick bites his tongue and Pete wonders what it would be like to bite the lie off his lips.

“A friend, right. And you’re moving in together.” 

“Actually, yeah.” Patrick’s brave, shoulders back with an eyebrow raised. “I’d ask if that was a problem but I don’t need your permission.”

“No, you don’t.” It’s hot, summer sweat on the back of Pete neck, and he finds it impossible to breathe. “I just didn’t know.”

“About which part?” Patrick asks.

Pete takes a breath that sinks into his lungs like an anchor, keeping him from flying away. “All of it.”

"What makes you think you should have known any of it?"

He sees Patrick form the words, sees him say it with a disgusted snarl. But Patrick doesn’t understand— he doesn’t fucking understand. Pete used to know everything about him and it burns to see how far he’s fallen from Patrick’s grace. What’s this about a new position? What’s this about a new apartment?

What’s this about a friend he’s moving in with? And why doesn’t Pete know?

For a second, Pete wants nothing more than to stand outside and scream Patrick’s secrets to the strangers on the streets if only to prove that he ever knew them at all. Tell the woman in the oversized glasses that Patrick’s the one who broke his mother’s favorite picture frame; tell the father and his children that Patrick is insecure about his smile.

He’ll stick his head out the window and shout that Patrick once loved him, too.

But when he speaks, his voice is just a breath and Patrick has to step forward to hear.

“Is it your new boyfriend?” Pete asks, making even the whisper sound malicious. “Is that who you were talking with?”

Patrick’s cheeks— already pink— stain red.

“That’s not a question you should be asking,” he says, answering in his own way. “You’re supposed to be on a plane. You’re supposed to be _ gone _.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not and now I want to know,” Pete says, stepping closer into Patrick’s space. “Who is it? Joe? Someone else? Some asshole you met while you were bored and alone?”

Patrick’s the dangerous kind of quiet, the roll of thunder in the distance so silent it’s barely there. His eyes flash with lightning and his fists are the storm clouds that have Pete rushing for cover.

Patrick’s voice is the rain itself, chilling Pete to his core— tearing apart his bones and leaving him as empty as the sky.

“You have no right to my life outside of summer,” Patrick says. “And summer’s done. So, go.”

Pete’s teeth grate against each other, his jaw tighter than the grip he has on his suitcase straps. 

When he turns and leaves Patrick’s apartment behind, he swears he hates him.

He swears he hates himself.

~ ~ ~

**Fourth Summer — 2008**

Pete really fucking hates summer.

He hates how it teases him with memories he used to have, ice cream trucks passing by with their stupid songs saturating the air. He hates how he walks down the sidewalk with his phone too close to his face, staring at an address he’s never seen before, the sun making it impossible to read. 

He hates how everyone around him is laughing about their summer plans. He hates how he’s been here long enough to start sweating but he still hasn’t seen Patrick yet.

There’s nothing Pete hates more, though, than knowing that he doesn’t know where Patrick is. 

As he walks down the streets and in the direction of Patrick’s new apartment, Pete looks around and realizes that this part of the city doesn’t remind him of Patrick, at all. Where’s the corner where they kissed until the street lamps turned on? Where’s the shop where Pete bought Patrick their first anniversary gift— a teddy bear with glasses hanging onto its nose? Where’s the swimming pool, the puddles of ice cream on the ground? Where’s the version of summer Pete’s made his own?

When Pete pauses outside Patrick’s apartment, even the door is wrong, too tall and the wrong shade of red. He doesn’t want to knock so he counts his breaths and waits, instead. But then he wonders what happens if he waits too long— who will be walking down these hallways to this room? Some friend of Patrick’s? Some new roommate? Someone sent to replace Pete?

Pete knocks and pretends his hands don’t shake. 

Patrick opens the door before the knocking is fully done. Was he waiting, just like Pete?

“Oh, good,” Patrick says in some strange eager way. “You’re here.”

He smiles like the Patrick Pete knows but there’s something different, something Pete can’t quite name. It’s not the darker clothes or the rounder face; it's something about the older eyes and the way his smile’s taken on a new shape. He’s grown up and Pete stands before him with bangs and sorry sounds; he’s Peter Pan, watching his lost boy realize he's not a child anymore.

But, then again, his lost boy, his Patrick, wouldn’t grab him by the shirt and tug him inside. Patrick would never giggle nervously to himself and slam the door shut, still holding onto Pete as if Pete could, at any moment, slip away.

Patrick may do things like that but he’d never do it like this. He’s like Patrick but only in the sense that a mirror is like reality. It’s a repetition and Pete holds his breath, waiting for the rhythm to break.

He wonders if he’ll hold his breath forever.

“How’ve you been?” Pete asks as Patrick stares at him, begging for the silence to be broken. “I haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

He hasn’t heard from him since they parted ways last summer but it seems best not to say that now.

“Oh, nothing important,” Patrick says, slowly letting go of Pete’s shirt but still refusing to step away.

“Okay, then. I was thinking—”

Pete doesn’t think of anything anymore, not when Patrick’s around; not when Patrick’s suddenly breaking, shoving him against the wall and kissing him hard. Desperate and reckless, it’s a kiss of fire and teeth, tongues and lips fighting to keep up.

“What are you—-?” Pete can’t finish the sentence, Patrick’s lips over his skin, teeth following close behind in little bites. Pete shuts his eyes and imagines that this is back before the deal was made; he finds he can’t quite recall how that Patrick looked.

“Shut up,” Patrick says lowly before covering Pete’s lips with his own again. They stay like that a while, Pete echoing each of Patrick’s movements before Patrick pulls back just enough to let them breathe. “I’ve got a new bed— it’s really nice. I— You should come see it. With me.”

Patrick races back in with another kiss before Pete can say anything, cutting off all coherent thought.

Still, Pete somehow finds himself following Patrick to the bedroom. One moment, he’s shutting his eyes against the image of the messy sheets and opening them to the vision of Patrick spread out against them, Pete hovering over Patrick with his fingers at Patrick’s lips.

This isn’t the Patrick Pete once knew but he shuts his eyes and goes in for another kiss anyway.

“Pete, Pete, please,” Patrick whines.

Eyes shut, Pete learns that Patrick still says his name the same way; Pete shudders but he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

Still, it’s Patrick. And all Pete can do is give in.

~ ~ ~

Even with all its strangeness, being back with Patrick is nice.

The morning after Patrick had dragged Pete to bed and kept him up with little moans and tiny sighs, Pete wakes up with Patrick still curled next to his side. They sleep like this whenever Pete’s here but… they don’t sleep like _this_. Together.

Pete’s heart grows in his chest, expanding in a way that should ache when he looks at Patrick’s parted lips and easy breaths. The sheets are cool around their hips, the window open to let in the early morning air, and Pete rests his arm around Patrick, pulling him closer.

Slowly, Patrick wakes. 

“Oh. Oh, hi,” he says once his eyes have focused on Pete’s face, a smile immediately lighting up the room. “Good morning.”

Pete grins back and speaks in a hushed tone, afraid of ruining this moment. “Good morning.”

“I suppose we should get up,” Patrick says, yawning and stretching out. Things like this are what make the deal worth it— things like Patrick raising fists to his eyes to rub away the sleep, things like the way he looks at Pete when he’s done. These are Pete’s moments and no one else can have them now. “How early is it?”

“Don’t know,” Pete says, keeping his fingertips on Patrick’s shoulder, drawing out shapes that don’t exist. “You could probably sleep for a while more.”

“I would but we have plans.”

Pete’s stroking pauses. “Plans?”

“Yeah, I— I got us tickets for that movie coming out tonight. And there’s a fair in town so we should check that out.” Patrick sits up and fixes his hair, scowling at a tangle he catches with his fingers. Pete reaches to help him sort it out and Patrick sighs, leaning closer to him. “I also heard that the record shop is getting new music so I think we would like that, too.”

“Sounds like a busy day,” Pete says absently, fiddling with Patrick’s hair. Has it always been so long? “I thought you’d want to stay here, show me the new place and everything.”

Pete knows Patrick, no matter how much he doubts it. He knows Patrick and so, unfortunately, he knows what it means when Patrick tenses and shifts away.

“Kinda don’t want to be here right now,” he says, laughing awkwardly around the words. “Besides, don’t you want to have a typical summer with me?”

A typical summer with Patrick is the kind that includes forced spontaneity and the pretense that it can last longer than the two months Pete’s here. A typical summer is ice cream on their lips and sugar in their blood, thunder in their voices when they speak. 

A typical summer isn’t running around aimlessly, trying to make every idea fit.

A typical summer isn’t Patrick hiding a heartbreak and using Pete as a distraction.

Because Pete knows Patrick and he knows what he’s doing. He knows Patrick and he knows his heartbreaks; he just doesn’t know why this one happened.

What’s the reason for Patrick’s frantic excitement, the way he jumps up and talks too much about everything except for what’s on his mind? Who’s the cause for the way his eyes linger on some shirt on the floor— a shirt that’s neither his nor Pete’s? Who’s the one who broke his heart while Pete wasn’t looking?

Questions he can’t ask. Things he shouldn’t know.

Besides, if he says it then it makes it real. And Pete would rather pretend he’s the only one who’s ever been close enough to cause such damage.

“Okay,” he says, putting on a smile that matches Patrick’s. “You can plan our day.”

Patrick looks at him, sighing in what must be relief. “Cool. Thanks.”

Though they grin, Pete can’t ignore that they both sound like they’ve been crying.

~ ~ ~

That night, Pete dreams but he doesn’t sleep. 

Patrick finds himself beneath Pete’s arm again, pressed against his side with a cool nose poking Pete’s skin. He looks exhausted, blinking with weights tied to the end of his eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” He asks, watching Pete as Pete watches him. 

Pete shakes his head. This is them. This is normal. 

“My dreams wouldn’t be as perfect as you.”

Still, he shuts his eyes when Patrick laughs, wanting to bury that smile into his sockets— let it be the last thing he ever sees.

It’s hours later, breathing steadily, that Pete opens his eyes again.

Patrick’s gone and his side of the bed is empty— not yet cooled, though, so he couldn’t have gone far. Pete rolls over onto his back, stares at the ceiling, and listens.

First, he hears the softest whisper of wind outside, a breeze only summer can make. And, then, he hears his name.

“It’s always about Pete,” he hears from the hallway, Patrick’s whining tone. “Stop asking about Pete.”

Pete’s heart is lead and his throat is the barrel of a gun; he sits and watches the door, waiting to fire at Patrick the second he comes in.

But Patrick keeps talking and Pete can’t tell how he feels. He wanted Patrick beneath his arm, beneath his skin; instead, Patrick’s outside and Pete can’t find a way to bring him back in.

“Mom, please,” Patrick says. Pete breathes a little easier. “It’s fine. We’ve been doing it for years now and we’re _ fine._”

Is Patrick still talking about them? And, if he is, is he still saying the truth? Pete realizes with a small start that it’s been years since he’s seen Patrick’s mother. Does she know about their arrangement?

“Because I need him around and seeing him over the summer was better than never seeing him again,” Patrick says, unknowingly answering Pete’s question. “And I don’t need to ask for permission to have a… to have some kind of relationship with Pete.”

The next silence is longer, filled only with Patrick’s constant sighs, and Pete can only imagine what Mrs. Stumph is saying. She liked Pete, at one point; after what he’s done, though, he can’t imagine she still does.

It takes forever for Patrick to speak again but, when he does, he does so with the voice of an alcoholic responding to someone telling him to put the drink away.

“It’s just fun. It’s not hurting and it’s not as dramatic as you’re making it seem,” he snaps. “Didn’t you hear me say I need him? I’m not going to ruin this, mom.”

He sounds addicted, stuck, trapped. He sounds like a mess. He sounds wrecked.

Pete looks down and watches his hands fist in the bedsheets. A better man would leave now. A better man would let Patrick go.

“I don’t know if I still love him,” Patrick whispers. “But I do know that I still want him.”

Pete’s not a better man.

His heart’s a bullet; his mouth’s the entry wound.

And he lies back down, waiting for Patrick to come back.

~ ~ ~

**Fifth Summer — 2009**

Pete does something he swore he would never do— he arrives in Patrick’s town late.

He arrives in Patrick’s town a month late— and he hasn’t said a word to Patrick since leaving last time.

But it’s not his fault, he thinks, as he checks into his hotel. It’s not his fault that Patrick never wrote, never messaged, never tried to call. He had a month to check in on Pete, see if he’s still coming. He never did.

And, so, Pete didn’t show up when he was supposed to. He still thought of Patrick nearly every day, though. Does that count?

Perhaps that’s the excuse he can give Patrick when he inevitably has to explain. Perhaps he can say they needed space and a chance to move on before they drowned in the acid this thing has become. 

It’s certainly better than saying that Pete had a boyfriend and didn’t want to leave. 

Mikey had been what Pete had needed— someone with a kiss Pete could feel whenever he wanted. Mikey had been flesh and blood beneath Pete’s hands, a heartbeat that thrummed throughout the year. He’d been cold and hot and everything in between— every season, every second.

And then he’d been gone because Pete, caught beneath Mikey’s winter storm, had called for Patrick.

A stupid mistake, yes, but one that’s easy to fix. He bought the plane ticket after Mikey stormed out-- Pete can still go to Patrick.

It takes a while to find him, though, and Pete wanders the streets outside Patrick’s home after finding it empty. Strangers pass by and Pete wonders if they can see the guilt slowly etching itself onto his face. It’s harder to hide without the bangs, his hair cut after Mikey had pulled on it one night, something that had Pete thinking too much of Patrick’s hands.

When he finally finds Patrick, the guilt solidifies into a stone in his gut.

He’s inside an ice cream parlor, hunched over as he stirs some melting drink. It’s not that he’s a wreck— Pete would hesitate to call this Patrick that but, then, he would hesitate to call this Patrick that name, at all. He’s different. Every change until now has been subtle— an inch added to his hair, a new shirt tossed into his closet. This year, though, Patrick is…

He’s different. 

There’s no light in his eyes as Pete approaches, face half-hidden beneath a hat Pete’s never seen before. But he’s also never seen Patrick’s cheeks so tight around the bones, a change that carries down his body. He’s not the solid force Pete would search for whenever he was lost; he’s a piece of wind, a strip of summer, and he looks a second away from blowing off into the distance.

At the table, Pete clears his throat. “Um. Hi.”

Patrick looks up and— eyes wide, jaw dropped— it’s like he’s seeing a ghost. He struggles for words, his breath the only sound between them, and Pete’s face fills with heat even as Patrick’s cheeks pale.

“Pete,” he says. “You’re— It’s— I didn’t— It’s July.” He stammers over his words, sinking deeper into his seat with each one, before finally saying the month in such a small voice that Pete barely hears.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He grabs the back of the chair before him, across from Patrick, but doesn’t sit down just yet. “I wanted to come see you, I promise.”

Patrick’s eyes fall to Pete’s hands, his eyebrows furrowing together. He looks like Pete’s cutting him with each word, starting and biting his lip. “You could have called. Or said something. Or did anything other than leave me alone with no explanation.”

“I know and I’m sorry. Can I… Can I sit down? Just let me explain, Patrick, please.” When Patrick nods, Pete collapses into the seat, suddenly breathing heavily. Patrick flicks big blue eyes at him and then looks away— how could Pete have kept away from this any longer than originally planned? “I didn’t think you’d care so much.”

Patrick jerks as if he’d been stung, like he’s been shocked, and some sort of vile toxic fills his eyes when he looks at Pete. “I don’t think you thought about me, at all.”

He doesn’t sound like Patrick when he speaks. He doesn’t sound like anyone Pete knows.

They’re strangers and Pete chokes back a broken sound at the realization.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says anyway. If he looks at Patrick from the corner of his vision, he can pretend this is just another stupid fight from the past. 

“Come on,” Patrick mimics, staring down into his drink— a milkshake with no toppings, melted ice cream and every metaphor. “Do I know anything about you, anymore?”

Pete could answer but he doesn’t want to lie. A second ago, he might have that yes, of course, they still know each other. But Pete doesn’t even know what flavor Patrick’s milkshake is; how can he expect to know anything deeper?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again. “I didn’t mean to.”

Patrick sighs, setting his spoon on the table and leaning back in his seat. His eyes, downcast, flicker with dampness. “You never mean to do these things, Pete.”

Even now, Pete’s skin prickles when Patrick says his name. That has to mean something, right?

“Patrick—”

Clearly, Patrick doesn’t have the same reaction.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” he says, waving Pete’s words away. 

Pete clenches his jaw. “It does. You know it does.”

“You don’t—”

“_Patrick_.”

Patrick’s lips slam into a thin pale line and the air around them sizzles and pops with all his anger. 

“I hate you.” Patrick says each word slowly, picking them out with the careful consideration of a marksman picking his weapon. “If you want to disappear, that’s fine. But don’t bother coming back to me if you do.”

“Oh, that’s fucking ridiculous,” Pete says— too quick, too injured. “We’ve had this thing going for how long? And I mess up once and you’re ready to call it quits. That’s so goddamn unfair of you.”

“Unfair?” Patrick explodes, eyes blazing— brighter than any predator, sharper than any knife. He’s here for the kill and he rages as if it’s all he’s been wanting to do. “It’s not a good fucking thing that we’ve been doing this for years, Pete. No one— No one fucking does this shit! Normal people don’t keep a relationship in the goddamn back of their mind for months just to pull it out when it suits them. I never wanted this for us— you did, and I fucking hate you for it.”

“You agreed,” Pete points out, desperate to share the blame with someone else. “I gave you the chance to back out and you didn’t.”

“You gave me an ultimatum,” Patrick says. “This was the only chance I had to save our relationship and I took it.”

“And did it work?” Pete asks, more sincerely than he’d like. “Did it save it?”

“No,” Patrick says with all the finality of a funeral toll. “It delayed the inevitable. And then it sabotaged everything else. This was never meant to work out.”

“Would you rather if we just broke up back then?” Pete asks, hysteria creeping into his voice even as he drops it down to match Patrick’s low tone. “Face it, you’re lucky I come back each year.”

For a moment, Patrick is the worst kind of silent. He wraps his fingers around the milkshake between them— some flavor Pete still can’t name— and considers the glass.

And then he stands, tossing the drink into Pete’s face and slamming the cup back down on the table.

“I’d be lucky if you never came back, at all,” he snaps.

Pete’s still wiping milkshake from his face and eyes as Patrick storms away, the doors closing behind him as he disappears down the sidewalk. 

Pete tries to find humiliation in how the shake sticks in his hair and dries on his skin. He tries to find rage at the way it stings his eyes and creeps down the back of his shirt.

But, really, all he feels is pain. And he doesn’t think he has any room for any more than that.

~ ~ ~

**Sixth Summer — 2013 (Four Years Later)**

Being back in Patrick’s town isn’t like stepping back in time, the way Pete thought it would be. Things have changed. Things have moved.

It’s both comforting and terribly depressing.

In the four years since Pete has been here, new businesses have popped up and old ones have died. He doesn’t recognize the arcade zone now taking over the old playground, nor does he know the theater that's taken the place of a church, but he pauses at each new site and pretends he can still see the past.

And then he moves on.

Four years. At least the sidewalks and streets still feel the same. 

The cafe that Patrick had said to meet him at is two blocks from Pete’s hotel but Pete takes his time, hands in his pockets and lip between his teeth. He pauses every few steps to check his phone, to check the message Patrick had sent out of the blue.

_ It’s been a while, _ Patrick had said on some social site Pete knows he never uses. _ If you’re in town we should meet up. _

Pete’s panic shows in his responses, saturated with question marks and emojis, but, eventually, they had a plan. And Pete had ended up back here.

Patrick always brings him here. Patrick is summer skies and hot nights. As a child runs by with a popsicle in her hand, Pete allows himself the ghost of a grin.

The smile only grows when he steps into the cafe and sees a familiar pair of blue eyes.

“Pete, oh my god,” Patrick says, waving Pete over to his table. He’s already ordered and appears to be halfway through a chocolate chip muffin but Pete doesn’t care. He’s too busy taking in Patrick’s shorter hair, tighter t-shirt, and red cheeks; the last bit, at least, is familiar. “I didn’t think you would come.”

Familiar words, too, said in that same voice Pete can still hear in his dreams. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair— longer than it had been the last time he saw Patrick but not quite as bad as it used to be.

“I didn’t, either,” he admits, sitting down. Despite everything Patrick had said in the messages, this feels too much like a first date. “But I had to come see you.”

Patrick blushes and looks down into his coffee. He keeps smiling and Pete pinches his own thigh to make sure this isn’t a dream. He doesn’t deserve this moment. He doesn’t deserve the warmth and light of Patrick’s smile.

“Oh, I got you a drink,” Patrick says, pushing a coffee cup Pete’s way. “Some latte thing. You still like those, right?”

Something sharp tangles around Pete’s throat. “Right.”

Patrick grins, satisfied, and tears off a piece of his muffin to pop into his mouth. Pete watches Patrick’s lips move, eyes caught on the smudge of chocolate in the corner, but quickly drops his gaze back down to his hands. He’s not allowed to look at Patrick like that anymore. 

So, then, what is he supposed to do? He wants Patrick— _god,_ he wants Patrick— but their last meeting is a glaring memory that burns the back of his eyes when he thinks of it. The awful words and sudden departure— Pete would rather suffer than dive back into that mistake again, no matter how tempting. He’s being given a gift here; he should know better than to ask for more.

Although, what else is there? Don’t second chances exist so that things can happen in a better way than before? It’s not history repeating itself— it’s trying again and learning from past mistakes.

At his own thoughts, Pete’s breath catches in his throat.

“What did, um, what did you want to talk about?” Pete asks. Patrick shrugs— he makes this all look so easy.

“I just thought it’d be nice,” he says. “You know, catching up with an old friend.”

But they’re not just friends. Surely, Patrick must know that. 

“Oh,” Pete says, words failing him. “That’s, um. That makes sense.”

“Right,” Patrick says. “So, how’s life?”

It’s easier when Patrick sets him up like that, places the ball on the tee and lets Pete swing. He tells him about his job and his friends. He jokes about the birthday party he went to last week, and then asks Patrick about his world. Patrick answers with the same smile he’s been wearing, shrugging about his latest promotion and blushing when he talks about his mom’s excitement. He tells Pete about his new place, his new job, his new life. He talks about everything Pete didn’t know to wonder about when nights got late and he missed him. Pete realizes he knows nothing about this Patrick— and he doesn’t mind one bit.

“—but we got Valentine’s off because of it, so that was cool,” Patrick says, finishing a tale about his job’s latest office romance. He pauses and doesn’t look at Pete when he speaks again. “How about you, by the way? Are you seeing anyone?”

He says it like he already knows the answer but Pete tells him anyway. “Not right now, no. I’ve had a few dates a bit ago but none of them really felt right, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” Patrick somehow manages to look sympathetic when he looks up. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who does.”

“You did,” Pete says before he can stop himself, impulsive as ever when met with Patrick’s presence. “You felt right.”

Something in the air shifts.

“That’s not really appropriate,” Patrick says after a brief pause. 

“I’m—” Pete means to apologize but he catches Patrick’s blush at the last second, the unwilling grin in the corner of his lips before he hides it with a long drink of coffee. Pete smiles without meaning to, his lungs and heart feeling too big for his body. “What about you? Any dates?”

It might be the wrong thing to say but Pete doesn’t regret it, not even when Patrick’s eyes harden and he makes some small disgusted sound.

“Same,” he says. “I had a few but… they never worked out.”

“Why not?” Pete’s pressing too far, leaning forward as he asks.

Patrick’s steely gaze switches to him. “Why do you think? The one person I ever really loved broke my heart. Kind of makes it hard to actually move on, don’t you think?”

Pete’s skin his hot, his pulse thrumming like drums in his ears. He can’t think but he can feel— god, he can feel.

“It was the same for me, you know,” he says, quicker than he should. “I never got over you. Christ, Patrick, you haunt me.”

“Haunt?” Patrick repeats, unimpressed.

Pete nods, smiling. “I can’t think of one moment where I wasn’t missing you.”

It’s not just a line and Patrick must be able to tell, his blush reaching his ears as he stares at Pete with parted lips. There’s a moment where his hand twitches on the table as if he might reach out but, then, his eyes fill with such sadness that he’s forced to look away.

“We can’t go back to that,” he says. “I won’t do that again.”

“We don’t have to.” Pete’s aware that he’s pleading, that this is exactly what he told himself not to do, but Patrick’s not really arguing and Pete doesn’t want to lose his chance. “We could just… start over. No rules. No summers. Just us.” Patrick keeps quiet but Pete can’t deal with the sound so he fills it with promises and pretty words; he fills the air with everything that’s been building in his head these past four years. “I never really said that I was sorry— not the way I should have. But I want you to know that I am. I was stupid and afraid but that never should have been a reason for you to get hurt.” He takes Patrick’s hand, gently, and nearly breaks when Patrick doesn’t pull away. “I still love you.”

Patrick says nothing. Pete stands and begins to pull his hand away— not because he wants to but because he needs Patrick to know he doesn’t owe Pete anything right now.

But Patrick turns his hand to grab Pete’s wrist. He stands and pulls Pete towards him.

For a reunion kiss, it’s rather slow and awkward; but Patrick’s kissing Pete and Pete’s kissing back and that’s all that really matters. He tilts his head and fits his lips against Patrick’s. He feels full and, yet, he desperately feels like he’ll never be full enough.

Patrick has another hand behind Pete’s head, hair caught between his fingers. He tries to pull him closer, only stopped when the table shifts between them. Patrick laughs and Pete feels it in his mouth; vibrant, bright, beaming.

This is more than summer. This is Patrick.

“I want to try again,” Patrick says when they pull away, face hot and red. “I want to try but I’m scared. I need time.”

“It’s okay,” Pete says, leaving one more kiss on the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “You can think about it. And, then, if you want, you can come find me.”

Pete goes back into the summer outside and realizes the sun’s not half as bright as Patrick’s eyes.

~ ~ ~

It’s hot in Pete’s town— maybe hotter than it ever was in Patrick’s. People are avoiding the outdoors but it’s okay; less people around to see Pete with his feet in the local swimming pool, kicking back and forth.

It’s been a little over a week since he’d flown out to see Patrick. He smiles at the memory.

No one’s really around but Pete doesn’t jump when someone sits down beside him, sighing and passing an ice cream cone his way. 

Patrick places a hand over Pete’s on the cement, both of them holding their ice creams in their free hands. Their pinkies interlock. 

“It’s so hot here,” Patrick says.

Pete faces him, winking from behind his sunglasses. “The summers are a bit brutal. Wait for winter. Those are usually nice.”

Patrick grins. “I’d love to stay and see.”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get to edit this as much as I would have liked and, tbh, most of this was written at times when I should have been asleep. Still, I'm rather proud of this. Please let me know what you think <3


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